Compilations of OC Canon Romances
by Ellielyse
Summary: All the OC/Canon romances that I started but aren't going to be finish. If you'd like to adopt one, PM me and we'll sort out the details!
1. Paulie

**PLEASE READ.** This collection of romance OC/Canon works will NOT be completed. These are just little snips of parts I've written that aren't going to be finished, so I thought I'd share them here :) if you'd like to continue one of my stories, just ask! But please give credit to me, or I will hunt you down! :]

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**Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece.**

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**Summary of Carpenter City**

I was just a young woman with a big ambition: to learn under the infamous Paulie of Galley La and hopefully make a name for myself to boot. Too bad things don't always go the way I want them to. OC/Paulie

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**Chapter One: Just A Small Town Girl**

"Nicole Ayame?"

I stood hesitantly from my seat, straightening the fray of my jean shorts as best I could. "Present," I called, before wincing. My voice sounded nervous. I _was_ nervous.

"Iceburg will see you now. Just go right in." The secretary smiled at me, and I managed to return the look, though somewhat wobbly.

On scuffed up sneakers I nervously hooked my thumbs behind my rainbow suspenders, rubbing the fabric between my fingers as I made my way to the office door marked "Mayor Iceburg" in elegant script. I reached out a hand slowly, my skin making contact with cool brass, before I turned the handle and pushed the door open fractionally.

"Come on in, miss."

I swung the door open wider, my eyes instinctively moving over the inner décor of Iceburg's office. It was incredibly tasteful, with neutral hues for the walls and a pure white carpet spread before a thick mahogany desk. Then my eyes rested upon Iceburg himself, with his dark coloured lips and vibrant blue hair, and smiled at the man, squaring my shoulders a bit. First impressions always counted, as I reminded myself constantly.

Maybe I should've worn something other than a paint-splattered tank top and ripped shorts. Or the suspenders. I shouldn't've worn the suspenders.

"You must be Nicole, correct?"

"Please, call me Nick," I interjected hastily, "I believe I printed my name as so on my résumé."

"So you did," Iceburg mused, unfazed and going over a few papers. He smiled kindly at me. "Well Nick, please have a seat," he gestured over to the plush armchair across from his, and I complied with his request, careful not to let the undersides of my shoes dirty the snow-white rug beneath me as I did so.

"I think you are highly qualified for the job, Miss Ayame," Iceburg started. I didn't bother correcting him on my name. I was too nervous to do so a second time. He looked up at me. "You have all the requirements we need here at Galley La, and under normal circumstances I would hire you without hesitation."

"Under normal circumstances?" I echoed, a deep sense of foreboding filling me, fast.

Iceburg nodded grimly at me. "Yes. You see, I met your grandfather many years ago," he started.

My breath hitched at the mention of my grandfather. Inwardly, I cursed. Even now, from beyond the _grave _he was controlling my life. Every single time! When I wanted to work at my island's local shipwright company, they refused me because _he _told them to, and I was forced to learn under him instead. When I wanted to give up on my dream to become a well-known shipwright and be a housewife like my parents wanted me to, _he _dumped ice-cold water on me every single morning until I took it back. And now, when I come to Water Seven, holder of the biggest shipwright company in the world, _he _is preventing me from getting hired and recognised!

The old man probably didn't want me to surpass him, because he knew I was better than him in his own trade.

Now if only I could believe it.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," I said, mouth suddenly dry.

Iceburg regarded me carefully, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. After a moment, he sighed, pursing his thin lips. "Nicole, you must understand that whatever your grandfather did was for the best. He wanted you to become a great shipwright."

I nearly snorted, but managed to restrain myself. "So why won't he let me do what I want?" I asked, sounding almost desperate. But I didn't care anymore. Grandpa couldn't control my life any longer!

Iceburg spread his hands. "How about you listen to the alternative for a moment before deciding anything?"

I paused. "Alternative?"

Iceburg nodded. "Before your grandfather passed away, he came here to Water Seven and told me that if you ever pursued a job at Galley La, I'd have you work under the top shipwright as a apprentice, to sum it up. That way, you could have more experience before you truly start your career as a shipwright for our very own company."

"Work under a shipwright?" I confirmed. Iceburg nodded. I pursed my lips to keep from frowning. "But I'm twenty-five. I think I'm old enough to make my own decisions, don't you think?"

"Age is but a number, Miss Ayame, and I promise you that Paulie is the best in the trade. You'll learn much from him."

Paulie, the number one carpenter at Water Seven. I had most definitely heard of him, though I wasn't sure what he looked like. Or knew any other tidbits about him, for that matter. Sure, he was well talked about at home, but I mostly just tuned all the gossiping shipwrights and focused on my own work.

If he was really as good as everyone said, though…

"How long would I be…learning," the word left a foul taste in my mouth, "from him?"

"Six months, give or take." Iceburg said promptly. My eyes widened. Six months? Iceburg noticed my grim look, continuing, "I'm sorry, Miss Ayame, but this is how it has to be. I assure you, Paulie is more than capable. You'll find, when the six months are up, considerable change in your skills."

"Alright." I was too tired to argue, drained both physically and mentally. "When do I start?"

Iceburg folded his hands, poised on the smooth mahogany desk. "First thing tomorrow. I'll have my secretary hand you the keys to your apartment that we've got set up for you, along with directions around Water Seven." He smiled. "I hope you have a great experience here, Miss Ayame."

I nodded wordlessly. Time to subject to six months of torture.

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My eyes remained glued to the map, my feet making slow, sure steps. I think I was holding up traffick but then again, most people got around using Yagara Bulls. I, thankfully, managed not to come to any dead ends, because of the directions Iceburg's secretary had given me.

I was coming to terms with my sentence…ish. Sure, becoming apprentice to Paulie put a small dent in my plans, but I would still eventually come out top. Maybe Grandpa was actually looking out for me this time.

_Grandpa_. It was hard to think of the old geezer without getting sentimental. As loud and annoying as the man was, I still loved him. And as plan foiling as he was, I still missed him…

"Get out of the way!"

So wrapped up in my thoughts, it came as a surprise when I found myself shouldered roughly to the side by the crowd who had moved in order to let the man through. I tumbled into the murky water with a short cry. Ice cold water soaked my clothes and filled my lungs before I had the sense to clamp my mouth shut and start swimming upwards.

What the hell?

Flailing, I broke the surface of the water, coughing violently. I managed to grab hold of the sidewalk ledge to hoist myself up, and, ignoring the staring passers-by and water streaming down my face, strained for a glimpse of the Neanderthal who'd basically pushed me in.

Two men in immaculate black suits stormed past me and the crowd, tinted sunglasses perched on their noses even though it wasn't all that sunny. Their sights seemed to be honed in on the same man as me.

Then the guy with blonde hair held back by a ridiculous pair of goggles turned back around, a cigar clenched between his teeth. And grinned. _Grinned_! He saluted the men following him, not even sparing me a glance, before turning and running off.

The jerk!

Frustrated, I pulled myself from the water, no thanks to the small crowd that had formed, who were pointing and shaking heads at the man who had run off as if it was a daily occurence or something. As I was squeezing water from my hair, I frowned. I couldn't just walk into the Galley La Company's main headquarters looking like a drowned rat!

Oh, if I could only get my hands on the man who had done this to me…

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**A/N:** And that's all I have so far! If you want to adopt this story, PM me and we'll sort out the details, plus I'll give you whatever plot I have :]

Stay tuned! There will be more little tidbits and drafts of other OC/CANON romances to come!


	2. Trafalgar Law

Another tidbit that won't be finished, this time a Law/OC romance!

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**Disclaimer:** I don't own One Piece.

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**Summary of Diamond of Gaea**

Injured from a previous pirate crew, Kylie has no chance against the next one: the Heart Pirates. Law is also in search of the treasure that Kylie has sworn to guard with her life, and in order to find the diamond, she is needed. In the end, it comes down to one question: wealth and riches, or Kylie?

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**Chapter One: Captured!**

"Hey boss, did you hear that?"

Kylie flattened herself closer to the thick undergrowth that grew in tangles on the forest floor. The footsteps grew dangerously close to her hiding spot. Hiding her muzzle in her paws, she suppressed a whimper of pain.

There were close. So close.

"Yeah, I heard it." A smooth baritone reached her ears and Kylie cursed in her head. They _knew_ she was here. Should she escape? _Could _she escape?

She was injured, after all.

She hissed lowly as the gash in her side dealt out blood at a steady rate. Her head felt light. Her cheeks felt hot. Despite her best efforts to keep silent, a soft whine escaped. The footsteps stopped, now only a few metres from her position behind the tall tree. To the left. They were to her left.

"Somewhere around here," she assumed the captain had spoken, in just a low murmur. But she still heard him, and it scared her. They knew where she was. They _knew._

_Don't hurt me._

The footsteps were almost directly in front of her now. She flattened her ears, belly slinking along the forest floor. Just when the group began starting in the opposite direction, a stab of pain coursed through her. She let out a high-pitched yelp.

Almost immediately, they were upon her.

"It's a leopard." One noted in slight surprise. She couldn't see their faces. She couldn't muster enough energy to look up. She felt faint. How long until she passed out? It should be anytime, now.

"I'm aware of that, Shachi." The captain – she recognized his voice – said shortly. There was a long pause, before, "Bring her with us. We're heading back to the village."

"Aye, captain."

The darkness crept up from behind, smothering her like a blanket; suffocating her. She was vaguely aware of being picked up gently. It was dark, so dark.

She welcomed it gratefully.

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"The sedatives should wear off soon, captain."

Law spared a brief glance upwards, nodding shortly to his subordinate. "Thank you. I'll be seeing her now." He stood, adjusting his hat coolly. "Bepo,"

"Yes, boss?" Bepo hugged Law's nodachi closer to his barrel chest, standing as well.

"Let's go."

"Aye, captain,"

The two made their way down the corridor. Law's shoes clicked on the cool metal of his submarine. _Click, clack. Click, clack._ He stopped in front of a door painted red and slowly pushed it open.

His eyes landed on the leopard's sleeping form immediately. Raising a hand, he motioned for Bepo to follow behind him as he took a seat at her bedside.

She was beautiful, really. Her coat was clean of all blood and gore, a pristine snowy white with black spots. Her eyes were a glowing blue, as he had seen before she'd passed out. It was a wonder he hadn't noticed her back in the jungle; she stood out greatly in contrast to the green of the forest. He was such an idiot.

But the most important thing was that he_ had_ found her. When operating on her previously, he had discovered she was a Devil Fruit user; the Cat-Cat Fruit, Model: Snow Leopard. A Zoan type.

Her eyes fluttered under his unwavering gaze. "Call Norman," Law ordered Bepo swiftly, as soon as she had started to show signs of awaking. Norman was the cook of the ship; once the patient awoke she would find herself to be increasingly famished.

"Aye, cap'n." Bepo left the room, leaving Law's nodachi leaning against the bed.

Law kept his focus on the leopard. He could clearly see her inner battle, fighting for consciousness as she was. Her paws twitched, her tail rising slowly. It fell back on the bed uselessly. Finally, her eyes opened, exposing those glowing blue eyes of hers. A growl escaped her as she looked around wildly, having not yet seen Law. She tried to get up, only to slump back on the bed with a pained yelp. Her muscles strained to keep her weight.

"Miss," Law cleared his throat, watching in slight amusement as the snow leopard's azure gaze landed on him promptly. Her eyes showed fear. Fear was good.

He chuckled under his breath when she fell off the bed in her haste to further the distance between them. She seemed to ignore the pain, scuttling along the hard metal floor and into the farthest corner. Her sharp claws scratched the surface it was on.

"It would be wise," Law started slowly, "if you kept your current appearance. Should you change back to your human form, your wounds might reopen."

The snow leopard said nothing, though her eyes did widen fractionally. She pressed herself closer to the cool wall, her fur standing up on edge. Her lips curled back to reveal a set of teeth. Perhaps to scare him with.

That was an amusing thought.

Law cleared his throat, standing. The leopard growled. "Miss," he started, like one would talk to a child, "I'm not here to harm you." When her eyes flickered to the door, he added, "We're in my ship; a submarine, to be exact. There is no possible way of escape."

Still, the leopard kept silent.

"Captain," Norman entered the room unceremoniously, a tray holding clear broth in his hands. His eyes flickered to the patient. "Err…Should I get some Sea King meat instead?"

Before Law could answer, a low growl emitted from the corner. Law raised a brow. "Is Sea King not to your liking, miss?"

The snow leopard hesitated. Raising a paw, she scratched four words in big block letters on the submarine floor.

VEGETARIAN

As soon as the word was read, Law smirked in amusement. "You're a snow leopard, and yet you claim to be a herbivore? That's an oxymoron if I ever heard one."

PROBLEM?

Hm. So the girl had spunk. Law assessed her coolly, eyes shaded by his hat. "Norman, set the tray down, then please leave." The cook did as he was told, and as soon as the door clicked, indicating it was closed shut, Law spoke.

"Now that we have a way of communication," he started, "what do you go by?"

She hesitated, a flurry of emotion passing through her eyes. Then, a paw rose to carve in the letters of her answer.

AMORA KYLIE

"Well, Miss Amora," Law drawled promptly, "I'm going to estimate and say that it'll take approximately seven days for your wounds to heal. Until then, you're stuck in this form, I'm afraid."

STAY?

"Here." Law replied, understanding the question, "You'll stay here until you're fully healed. I have many…_questions_ to ask you." Law stood, inclining his head. "I'll assign one of my men to make sure you're okay. Enjoy your meal; and have a good day."

He left after that.

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Dangerous.

That was Kylie's first impression of him, and she knew that she wasn't wrong. That man, the rookie pirate Trafalgar Law, if she wasn't mistaken, was a dangerous, dangerous man.

She'd have to be extremely careful around him.

She watched as he left the room, her fur standing on edge. She would not let her guard down her whole time on the ship, submarine, whatever. She knew what he was after; he was the same as every other pirate-slash-bandit in the world.

Because who would turn up the possibility of treasure?

The door shut quietly, and not a second later Kylie slumped to the floor in exhaustion. Her wounds ached and her head pounded. Was it possible for snow leopards to attain headaches?

She needed out.

Until her wounds were fully healed, however, there was little chance of escape. Looking at the nearest porthole, she realised that Trafalgar hadn't been lying. She really _was_ underwater. There really _was_ no chance of evading confrontation with these people. Well, not until she healed, at least.

Her time was being bided, and Kylie was waiting patiently until then. Because there was no way she was telling Law _anything_ about the Diamond of Gaea.

It was her duty to protect it, after all.


	3. Killer

Yes, this is a Killer/OC romance that will also not be finished. There are three or four chapters that will be posted here, so if you do not like this pairing, sorry. But please bare with me! By the way, the whole time-skips to come might be a little confusing, so pay attention to the **bold**ed words and mentions of time. Also, a quick warning: cursing ahead.

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own One Piece.

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**Summary of Massacre**

Meet Gray, childhood friend of Kid and Killer's. Then they left, leaving behind Kid's deceased sister, and her, as well. Now, she's in the Grand Line and ready for some blood to spill across the pages – perhaps even find love, too.

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**Chapter One: To The Grand Line**

**Three Years Ago**

"Are you really leaving?"

Killer turned his head ever-so-slightly, catching sight of his best friend's sister's best friend. It was often confusing when explaining his relationship with the young woman before him to others, so he usually settled for calling her a mere friend of his. Not that he had many people to tell in the first place, but it was the principle of the matter.

"You know how I am," Killer said simply, in response to her question.

The black haired woman nodded; he didn't need to elaborate, she knew him well enough to know his thirst for adventure, his undying bloodlust itching just beneath the surface and waiting impatiently to be released – she too knew the feeling; it was something she often felt as well, only more subdued. "Any chance I can come with you?" she asked, half-joking, and yet completely serious at the same time.

"And leave your parents behind?" Killer snorted. "Like you'd do that."

It was true. She would never leave her parents; she treasured them too much. Especially after seeing Killer, Kidd, and Kidd's now-deceased sister's parents' broken relationships. Her mom and dad were a perfectly happy couple, and she didn't want to ruin that by becoming a pirate like her two friends were planning to do. Unlike them, she didn't want to get away from it all.

"I'll miss you," she said simply. She was often the one who initiated conversation of any kind with the stoic man, unless it was to make fun of or insult her; then Killer was always quick to voice his opinion.

Killer nodded, still staring off into the distance. "Same here," he replied, though he didn't actually say that he would miss her back. But she knew. He wasn't the talkative, sensitive type. She knew.

"Where's Kidd?" she asked, changing the subject smoothly.

"He's saying goodbye." Killer responded, turning his masked head in another direction, where the cemetery was. The blue-eyed woman next to him merely nodded absently, tucking her feet under her body and tugging the ends of her sweatpants over the cold appendages. They stayed in relative silence for a while after that, before Killer shifted and rose to his feet. The black-haired woman looked up at him, not saying a word. "I should leave now." The blonde said, staring at the cemetery's entrance, where a familiar head of red hair was emerging from the gloomy place.

The twenty-two-year-old rolled her eyes at him, the solemnness that they had kept up until that moment vanishing in an instant and, for a second, it seemed like the good old days, back when _she_ was still alive. "I'm seeing you off, idiot. That means I'm coming with you to the harbour in dumb-speak."

Killer smirked behind his mask, though she couldn't see. Normally, the woman he was currently looking at could get him riled up so easily, even more so than Kidd, but at the moment, he felt calm, serene. Like he should be; a façade he enjoyed portraying to outsiders. Only the closest to him knew his real exterior that was normally buried ten feet under. "I'm choosing not to respond to that, Gray."

The woman – Gray – gaped open mouthed at Killer at his lack of response, who let out a small chuckle in turn. "Close your mouth. You're attracting flies." He told her.

Gray closed her mouth shut with an audible _click_ of her jaw, scowling lightly at the blonde. "Yeah, well your mask is… ugly." She muttered lamely, upset at the fact that Killer hadn't risen to the bait; it was a rather good comeback, too, in her books, anyway. Killer chuckled a little once more, the sound reverberating in the confines of his mask and emitting through the small holes that dotted the white-and-blue accessory. He held out a hand for Gray, who took it without further complaint, though a small, disappointed frown still showed on her features.

Once she was on her feet, the two promptly made their way to the harbour, exchanging no words until they had reached the small dinghy and the man reclining casually in it. "Are you two lovebirds done with the goodbye sex _already_?" Eustass Kidd asked nonchalantly, raising a single pale eyebrow that could barely be seen in the first place.

The response was instantaneous. Both Gray and Killer scowled, and the former stuck out her tongue childishly at Kidd. "Fuck you, ginger." Killer said, as he was the only one of two people who could get away with saying something such as that to the temperamental red-head, the second being Gray.

Kidd rolled his eyes and patted the seat next to him. "Ready to go?"

All previous annoyance gone, Killer nodded, hopping on to the small boat agilely. "So, I'll be seeing your bounties in the near future, I presume?" Gray drawled with a small smirk on her face.

Kidd returned the expression, his relaxed posture confident and cocky. "You bet you will." He paused. "You'll take care of…" he drifted off, but he didn't have to go on.

Gray spoke up to spare her friend the embarrassment. "Yeah, you can count on me. She's in good hands." Kidd nodded shortly in thanks.

"All ready to go, captain." Killer announced suddenly.

Kidd grinned maliciously at the title. Looking energized, he got up to his feet as the current began to drift them farther away from where Gray stood. "See you, Gray." Kidd said in farewell. Killer inclined his head ever-so-slightly. Gray simply nodded in turn, raising a hand as the two drifted father and farther from her sight. Once the boat was a mere dot in the horizon, she began the short walk back to the village.

Not three days later, Eustass 'Captain' Kidd got his first ever bounty. Five days after that, 'Massacre Soldier' Killer was known around the world as his first mate. Gray could only smirk and shake her head, staring at the two bounties and the dramatic faces on the wanted posters pinned to the tavern's wall.

It seemed their bloodlust had preceded the two pirates, yet again.

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**One Year Ago**

Gray's hair fluttered in the slight breeze, the raven-coloured strands brushing her shoulders. Her once bright blue eyes stared unseeingly at the tombstone before her. Her hand reached out to touch the cool marble, thumb sweeping over the initials of her best friend.

"I'm leaving," she told the empty air before her softly. "Mom and dad are taking me to an island in the Grand Line. They say it's safer for me there, because people like me are common in that area of the world." She paused. "They don't want me to be shunned from society like Kidd had been. So, I'm leaving. I won't see you any time soon, but I'll be sure to come back one day."

Her lips curled into a small, amused and somewhat hopeful smile. "Maybe I'll meet Kidd and Killer there. After all, they haven't even entered the Grand Line yet." She shook her head. "Sometimes, I don't understand them. They've waited until they were twenty-six to start their roles as pirates, and then spend two more years wasting time around these parts. When are they going to man up and enter the Grand Line?"

Gray pursed her lips as only silence greeted her question, before rising from her crouched position and brushing off the dirt from her knees. Her smile dropped a little at the edges as she felt two figures standing a little to her left. "I know," she said without looking up, "I was just wrapping it up."

"The boat is here and ready, darling." The soft, albeit frail voice of her mother said from behind her.

"Right." Gray swallowed hard, feeling weak tears prick her eyes. She brushed them back stubbornly. "Bye, Anne," She told the gravestone softly. Then, she turned around, feeling the waves of her parents hitting her full force.

"I'm ready." She said simply, and with that, the three walked off towards the harbour, Gray turning her back on the only thing she had promised Kidd two years ago. Unfortunately, she had no choice. She, personally, didn't care much of what others thought of her predicament, but her parents did and she loved them too much to disagree.

To the Grand Line it was.

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**Present Day**

"Killer."

The aforementioned man raised an eyebrow behind his mask, turning towards his captain in a questioning manner. "Yes?"

Eustass 'Captain' Kidd jerked his head towards an unknown source, as the two were out on the deck and seawater greeted them in all directions. "Land." He said simply, just as the tops of an island peeked through the somewhat foggy haze.

Killer walked calmly towards the front of the ship, his shoes resounding upon the red-stained deck – not from paint – and looked out towards the sea. He nodded shortly upon catching sight of land. "You want me to call everyone else out here?" he drawled lightly. At Kid's nod, the blonde masked man went to work at fulfilling the red-head's request.

Little did both of them know what surprise was soon to come.

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The first thing Kidd and Killer heard upon stepping foot on the island were the agonizing screams of presumed civilians. At first, the red-haired man grinned, before frowning a bit as he realized he should have been the one to cause the inhumane sounds to surface. "You all stay on the ship. Killer and I will check out the commotion." Kidd instructed the rest of his crew, who nodded dutifully without a word. The two best mates made their way into the confines of the village, reveling silently in the slightly scared looks they received from random passersby. However, once they arrived at the source of the sounds from before, they found no villagers to be seen. In the middle of the town square were a huge crew of pirates.

The one who stood out the most – probably the captain – was snarling with murderous intent as, one by one, the men surrounding him dropped like flies, letting out tormented screams before toppling over. The cause of the chaos, however, was not to be found.

Killer sidestepped a stray bullet with relative ease, unhooking the scythes at his hip to the gauntlets attached to his arms in one smooth movement. His eyes were alert behind the mask, darting around to catch the perpetrator.

Finally, only the captain of the crew was left standing bare without his men to shield the coward. The pudgy looking man licked his lips nervously, cocking his flintlock pistol in the general area of the culprit. With a _bang_, the bullet was sent on its way. For a single moment, the surroundings were deafeningly quiet. Then, a low, feminine chuckle emitted from somewhere above and a _crack_ could be heard as the captain fell and hit his head sharply on the pavement, his chest bleeding profusely from the unseen bullet.

Then, all was silent.

"Who are you two? Are you a part of _his_ crew?" a woman's voice called out disdainfully; the owner of the gun, obviously referring to the now-dead captain still bleeding on the concrete.

Kidd scowled in disgust. Did she not know who he was? "Pah," he spat, "Like I'd work for a man as weak as he. No, I'm my own captain. Surely, you've heard of me." He ended arrogantly.

There was a pause before an amused voice floated over to the two men. "How am I to know who you are if you don't tell me?"

Kidd's eyes narrowed, unsure if the question was meant to be teasing or if she was being completely serious. Before he could respond – most likely an insult only a pirate would know – a body emerged from the roof of a house directly opposite of them. The girl looked to be around their age, with shoulder-length black hair and blue eyes that looked like they were seeing _through_ Kidd, not at him. She wore jean capris and a blue tank top. Two simple but well-made flintlock pistols were sheathed at each hip, and the owner of the guns had a look of slight bloodlust on her face, as well as an odd sense of serenity.

She also looked incredibly familiar.

Without another word, she jumped off the roof agilely, walking just a few metres short of Kidd and Killer. "Well?" she drawled lightly, "Mind telling me who you lot are?"

"You first," Kidd snarled, not taking anyone's orders – even if it _was_ some random, unimportant girl.

The woman smirked, looking highly amused, which only served to agitate Kidd further. Killer too was getting a little impatient, the look on her face rushing at him with a strong sense of déjà vu. Who was she?

"Fine, I guess I could go first," the woman said in response to Kidd's demand. Her shrouded blue eyes looked in their general direction, the same calm expression on her face as her tightly laced combat boots toed the dead captain lying before her.

"The name's Ikstumei. Ikstumei Gray."

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**A/N: **I know, I know, completely cliché and Mary-Sue-ish. That's why I'm not continuing it, lol. But I'll still post what I have, here. Next chapter to come soon.


	4. Killer 2

Part two of Massacre, enjoy :)

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own One Piece.

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**Chapter Two: The Echo-Echo Fruit**

Killer sat back in his seat, arms crossed firmly over his chest as he observed the woman before him with a critical eye from across the lengthy table of the mess hall. It was only the two of them, at the moment.

The rest of the crew was nowhere to be found, and Kidd himself had gone to check up on his subordinates, claiming roughly that he'd be back, well, when he damn well chose to, leaving his first mate all alone with the blue-eyed woman quietly sipping water from a tall glass cup, unnervingly still. She cleared her throat a moment later, and Killer assumed she was slowly building up the resolve to start talking. Only she didn't. Talk, that is.

She just continued to sip that _goddamned_ water like Killer wasn't even there. God, she infuriated him.

The masked blonde shifted in his seat to get a little more comfortable, silently indicating to the raven-haired woman before him that he had no intentions of leaving any time soon. And as she just kept on drinking from the cool glass cup, looking as if she hadn't a fuckin' care in the world, Killer replayed in his mind what had happened not more than an hour's previous, when he and Kidd had been told just _who_ the markswoman was.

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_"__The name's Ikstumei. Ikstumei Gray."_

_The single, lone declaration stopped both Kidd and Killer in their tracks, their faces turning to identical looks of slight shock at the name._

Gray.

"_Why did you guys go all quiet on me?" The raven-haired woman asked after a long silence had ensued. After no response, she tried again. "Hello? Are you two still alive over there?"_

_Did she not recognise them?_ _Killer recovered first, clearing his throat. He reasoned that it would be wise if he did all the talking, since he wasn't sure what Kidd's reaction would be upon realising Gray was _here_, in the Grand Line, instead of back on their home island with Anne like she'd promised._ _The blonde took a calming breath to stabilize him and his thought process. "Gray?" Killer felt the need to make sure, just in case._

_The back-haired woman furrowed her brows,_ just like Gray used to do_, and nodded slowly. "Yes, that's me."_

_Before Killer could get in another word, that's when Kidd snapped. "_Gray_!" the redhead roared, reaching for the woman with surprising speed. He grabbed hold of her tank top and hauled her off the ground. Gray flinched, glossed eyes still open instead of shut tight like Killer had assumed it would be. "You promised me!" Kidd continued, his fist clenching tighter on the fabric as his face contorted into a snarl. "You promised!"_

"_Hey – hey, let me go!" Gray protested, thrashing in his insistent hold. "What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?" her voice was high-pitched and, admittedly, a little scared. She threw a punch at Kidd, who caught the limb easily in his rage._

_That was when Killer realised what she had said. "Kidd! She doesn't recognise us!" he called over the redhead's snarls._

_Kidd jerked Gray once more, and just when Killer was about to repeat himself, the captain shoved her down to the ground roughly. Kidd was shaking hard, almost inhumane growls tearing itself from his throat. "How the hell can she not recognise us, Killer? We look the same as ever! She's a traitor, that's what she fuckin' is!"_

_He looked back at Gray, but it seemed she had stopped listening. With shaking hands, the woman raised one to her mouth, staring off into the distance behind them. "Kidd? Killer?" she asked uncertainly._

"_What the hell are you doing here?" Kidd snarled in response._

"_Oh, my God. It's…it's…" without another word, Gray flung herself at Kidd, and, caught by surprise, the captain could only stare as the woman buried her head in his chest, positively trembling._

_This wasn't the Gray they knew._

_"__Kidd, Killer, you're here, you're here–" she babbled incoherently, and soon enough Kidd lost his patience and ripped Gray off of him, never mind that she was a possibly crying woman – not that the Gray he knew would ever cry – who may or may not be his childhood friend and woman he regarded as his practical sister._ _Because there was only one thing on his mind at the moment._ Anne.

"_Gray, why the __hell__ are you here?" he demanded, shaking Gray slightly for emphasis._ _The green-eyed woman shivered a little, eyes wide, though no tears had escaped. She worried her lower lip, breathing out noisily in an attempt to calm herself down._ _When no answer came from her, Kidd shook her once more. "Gray, don't make me ask again," he warned though clenched teeth, patience thinning._ _Gray shook her head, looking down. Just when Killer was about to intervene, she spoke to the ground almost inaudibly. The statement alone cleared almost everything up. _ _Almost._

"_My parents…Kidd, they're dead."_

* * *

Killer stayed immobile on his spot on the chair, as did Gray, both equally as stubborn as the other and both unwilling to be the first to speak. That is, until Kidd strolled almost _casually _– the fucker – into the mess hall, looking a whole lot calmer than he had a while ago. Both Gray and Killer looked up when the redhead came in, regarding the Eustass calmly.

"Well," Kidd drawled, drawing out a chair and seating himself, his legs straddling the back of the piece of furniture as he regarded the raven-haired woman almost diplomatically. "Now that we're in the comforts of our own ship, Gray, would you mind telling us what the fuck is going on?"

Gray sighed, most likely knowing that the inevitable interrogation was coming sooner or later, and set her glass down on the hardwood table with a light tap. She sat back in her chair, eyes looking blankly at a spot on the wall behind Killer. "You guys know how important my parents are… _were_, to me." She stated, folding her hands in her lap. When Kidd and Killer said nothing, merely nodded, Gray rubbed a hand tiredly over her face, exhaling noisily. "Well, they passed away seven months ago, five months after we came to this island."

Killer calculated quickly. That meant Gray had been in the Grand Line for about a year or so. Many questions gnawed at his sanity, but before he could voice them, Kidd spoke up, his tone harsh but not as much as it had been before. "But why did you move? Why did you leave _her_?" the captain's voice was dangerously calm, making Gray shiver just a tad in her seat, but she knew him well enough to get him to calm down; she knew just what to say to keep the redhead from strangling her to death with a rusted dagger.

"I ate a Devil Fruit." She replied simply, her shaking hands betraying her cool tone and stony façade.

Killer snuck a peek at Kidd, who seemed to relax into his chair, understanding flickering across his pale face before leaving just as quick. "Your parents wanted you to leave the village," Killer stated, and Gray nodded in his general direction. He snarled a little at that. _Why wouldn't she look at him_? "What the hell, Gray? You haven't even spared us a glance this whole time – you scared or something?" the blonde groused irritably, nearly jumping off his seat in annoyance. She was one of the two people who could get him riled up this easily, which only pissed Killer off even more.

Gray started a bit in her chair, before looking away guiltily. "That's just the thing, Killer," she said softly, unfazed by the blonde's outburst, "I _can't_ see."

_I can't see._

She couldn't see.

She couldn't _see_.

Kidd jumped to his feet, staring down at Gray incredulously. "What the _fuck_ do you mean by that, Gray?" he asked, forgetting about his sister for just a moment.

Gray took in a shaky breath, gesturing for Kidd to seat himself. He didn't. She sighed and looked away. "The Devil Fruit I ate…" she started, "It was the Echo Echo Fruit."

Killer's eyes narrowed behind his mask. "The Gray I know would never eat a Fruit," he stated lowly, accusingly.

That was when Gray's patience ran out, and she jumped to her feet angrily. "I didn't ask for it, okay, Killer? It was that freaking _pirate's_ fault!"

There was a pause following the outburst. Killer put together the pieces quickly. When he spoke, his voice was eerily dangerous. "Some pirate scum forced you to eat a Fruit?" at her quick, sharp nod, he sighed, aggravated. "Fuckin' hell, Gray! How could you not be strong enough to kick some scrawny pirate's ass?"

"It's not my fault, Killer! They were too strong for me, end of story! I got captured, they fed me the Fruit just for shits and giggles, and I go blind! I'm lucky some other pirate was there to help me escape! What part _don't_ you understand?"

"The blind part," Kidd cut in bluntly, well used to the bickering before him back when _she_ was still alive. "I don't understand how you can go blind by eating a fruit. Aren't they supposed to _give_ you something, not take it away?"

Gray glared in the general direction of Killer, before sighing and facing Kidd. "The Fruit I ate allows me to send sonic waves of some sort from my body. It bounces back from an object and tells me where things are, kind of like bats and echolocation, only a little more complicated." She paused, re-seating herself. "In exchange for the Fruit's powers, it took away my sight."

"Idiot," Killer muttered, the comment muffled by his mask and therefore going unnoticed.

Kidd frowned thoughtfully. Now that she mentioned it, her eyes were glossed over and shrouded; not full of life like they used to be. "So, you moved here to the Grand Line a year ago, your parents died five months later, and here we are now." He summarized.

Gray nodded, her jaw locked stubbornly.

"What was that sharpshooting business from before?" Killer cut in, determined to have each of his questions answered. "You were never that good with a gun."

Gray ignored the slight jibe, crossing her arms across her ribcage. "Well, since I ate the Fruit, my accuracy has increased dramatically. The good side to the Fruit is that my precision with a gun has been raised to 89 percent, but the down side to it all is that I'm useless in close combat and, obviously, that I'm frickin' _blind_."

Kidd shook his head. "Whatever, Gray. I just want to send this village up in flames and then get the hell out of here as soon as the log pose sets. You stay here on the ship; Killer and I will be back shortly."

Gray hesitated, pursing her lips at the abrupt change in subject. "Wait…I'm coming with you?" she confirmed slowly.

Kidd snarled, losing his patience as he was forced to sacrifice his pride. "Yes, Gray, you're joining my crew, now don't make me say it again!"

Gray sat back slowly, her lips curving into a small smile, the first one they had seen since meeting her after all these years. For a second, it seemed like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she grinning maliciously at the thoughts of what was to come now that she could finally join Kidd's crew, something she and Anne had always dreamed of doing when they were mere teenagers. Gray saluted cheekily in the general direction of Kidd, the tension leaving her posture. "Aye, captain!"

And as Kidd rolled his eyes and made to leave, Killer following shortly behind him – ruffling her hair on the way out, just like he used to, which she responded to with a hearty, 'Fuck you' – Gray couldn't help but grin at the ceiling above her like a right maniac. _Anne, I hope you're listening. Guess what? I'm now officially…_

_A member of the Kidd Pirates!_


	5. Killer 3

Part three of Massacre. There will be one more chapter after this.

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Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Getting to Know**

It turned out that the log pose only needed a day to set. Kidd and his few choice subordinates, Killer included, had ransacked Gray's village, not that she minded entirely. Killer was smart enough to stop by Gray's old home, taking her clothes and what scarce belongings she had with him. The day after that, they had set sail, their log pose pointing in a new direction.

It was now currently early in the morning, though Gray wasn't sure how early; from what she could tell, none of the crew had awoken yet, not even Killer who was an early riser, the complete opposite of their sleep-'till-noon captain. After Gray had awoken to the familiar darkness enveloping her senses, the blue-eyed girl had stumbled upon the kitchen. Well, she had assumed it was the kitchen, taking into account that her powers registered pots, pans, and smooth marble counters.

The Echo Echo Fruit was a strange one indeed. For some reason, back in the very depths of her mind, her brain registered various attributes of objects or people. For instance, if Killer walked into the room, she would know it was him because long, thick hair and the metal of his mask would greet her in waves, as well as the body itself. It was as if everything was in shadows, only she 'saw' them with the sixth sense the Fruit had given her. Her powers were harder with lowly marines, however. All were relatively similar to her in the same attire, and therefore harder to pick out individually. Though if facing such a situation as that, she needn't know who was who – she just needed a gun in her hand and the coordinates of her opponents in mind and she was all set.

As Gray sipped water slowly, clutching the glass cup in her hands, she felt the door open and Killer walk in shortly after. "Miller," she greeted passively without turning to look – it would prove useless even if she did – a small, teasing smile on her face.

Killer frowned thinly, running a hand through the mane of his hair. It was a good thing he had remembered Gray to be an early riser, and had put on his mask – not that it mattered, now that he put more thought into it: she couldn't see him anyway.

"Don't call me that, brat," Killer said coolly with missing a beat, shuffling to the kitchen – which was directly next to the mess hall, where Gray was seated. Gray grinned a little. Back when she had first met Killer, many years ago, the blonde had all but whispered his name when asked for it, and Gray had thought the masked man had said 'Miller' instead of 'Killer'; not very creative and actually kind of lame, but Gray was still bent on using the nickname ever since. It aggravated Killer to no end, and though he tried not to show it, Gray knew him all too well to be fooled.

"Whatever you say, Mills!" Gray chirped, knowing that Killer was in the kitchen and therefore relatively safe from his wrath.

Killer sighed and set to work preparing himself a basic breakfast; Dalton, the cook, wouldn't be up for a while and he was sort of hungry. He refused to show annoyance to his childhood friend; she practically lived on it back then and he wasn't about to start her up all over again. Besides, he had… missed her teasing, per say. Sometimes, she would go too far and be hung within an inch of her life, but other times, it reminded him of home. Of his childhood days spent with Kidd and Anne and Gray. It was…safe.

It was also a very pansy-like thing to even _think_, and Killer was a pirate for a reason, so if anyone even suggested that he felt as such he would give them a very slow, very painful death.

Almost unknowingly, Killer found himself settling into a routine long forgotten. "Eggs?" he asked Gray, who nodded with a smile. "Bacon?" he asked with a small smirk behind his mask.

Gray made a face, looking accusingly at the pan in Killer's hand, making his smirk widen a little. "You know I hate bacon, Killer," she said with a frown, and upon hearing him let slip a small chuckle, she made a face. "Oh, shut up."

Killer easily ignored her and proceeded to fry up an egg, purposely popping the yolk because he knew she disliked it that way. He then buttered some toast, and, when the egg was done, slipped it onto a plate. "Here," he grunted, sliding the plate towards Gray. She fumbled and barely saved her breakfast from dropping to the floor, scowling at Killer afterwards.

"Thanks," she mumbled reluctantly, causing Killer to smirk once more. "And wipe that smirk off your face," Gray added with a smile of her own. The expression slipped from Killer's features and he glared at Gray, silently cursing the fact that she knew him too well. They ate in silence after that, Killer taking off his mask to eat his toast. The only sounds heard were the occasional scrape of a fork and the sound of food being eaten.

Gray finished her egg, eating around the popped yolk – she knew that Killer had done that purposefully, damn him – before pushing back her plate, satisfied. Even if it was only a simple egg, Killer had added various spices and cheeses to it, making a darn good omelet. Just how she liked it; and secretly, Gray was pleased that he remembered. She sat back in her seat, the waves of Killer hitting her full force. He was, presumably, just finishing up his own breakfast, and she waited until he was done before speaking. "Hey, Killer…Tell me…tell me what the ship looks like."

Killer paused, looking at Gray quizzically. "What it looks like?"

Gray nodded, her voice small and quiet. "Yeah…I can't…since I can't see now, I usually ask others what my surroundings look like so I can picture it in my mind. Also… do you look the same as before?"

Killer clenched his jaw as unwanted images of some pirate force feeding Gray came to mind, before sighing. "I'm still the same as ever; maybe a little more muscular. The ship is like most others, but the deck…" he smiled thinly, "The deck is red most of the time – I think you can assume why, too."

Gray laughed, the sound light and amused. "I see. Alright then. Does Kidd look the same as well?"

"Same red hair, same cocky grin, same aviator goggles…" Killer paused, "He did get a new coat."

"Tell me about it." Gray said simply, trying to conjure up an image of Killer in her mind, sitting across from her, most likely with his arms crossed over his chest.

Killer shook his head in contemplative thought, pursing his lips. "Well…"

* * *

"So, you used to know Killer and Captain Kidd back when they were young?" Heat asked around a mouthful of bacon. Killer had told Gray that he was one of the higher ranking members of the crew, and resembled a stitched doll of sorts. Her image of him wasn't too pretty, and not for the first time, she wished she still had her sight.

Gray nodded absently in response to Heat's attempt at conversation, smiling to herself at the noise that filled her eardrums. The whole crew had awakened and were all crammed in the mess hall, having breakfast. She figured this was the norm for the Kid Pirates, all loud and boisterous.

Her Fruit – or sixth sense – registered a mouthful of metal from all around her. Killer had informed her beforehand that Kid liked to keep his crew in control, because his Fruit could be a good discipline method. Gray thought it amusing. She only hoped he wouldn't force _her_ to wear the same kind of clothes as the rest of them. "So I'm guessing Kidd is still a night owl?" she asked Heat, who she felt nod.

"That's right. Captain doesn't usually get up for breakfast, and coffee is his best friend," he joked lightly. Gray laughed, nodding in agreement. That definitely sounded like Kidd. It was good to know some things hadn't changed.

Suddenly, she stood, offering Heat a smile in his general direction. "I'm gonna get some fresh air." She explained, and after she felt the man nod, she carefully maneuvered her way to the door, stepping out into the deck. As soon as the door swung closed behind her, she breathed in the salty sea air, the noise fading to a dull buzz in the backgroud.

Gray walked slowly over to the railing at the front of the boat, nodding slightly to acknowledge the pirate – most likely the navigator – at the steering wheel-thing: she didn't exactly know the dynamics of pirate ships. The wind whipped her hair sideways softly, and Gray felt a dull ache in her chest, not for the first time.

She wished she could see the oceans, the sky, the sun. Until her sight had gone, she'd never known how important it was. She never cherished it fully; never got to really open her eyes and see the world for what it was: beautiful. Now, she'd never get the chance.

Gray managed a small smile when she felt Kidd walk up behind her. She sensed he was still sleepy, probably just woken up. A mug of something – she was willing to bet it was coffee – was held securely in his hand. They didn't speak, mostly because there really was nothing to say aside from meaningless chatter. They could talk about her family, but it still hurt to even think about her parents. They could talk about Anne, but both Gray and Kidd, and even Killer were sore on the subject of Kidd's deceased sister that had brought so much happiness to their lives. But it didn't really matter, as they didn't have to say anything to understand each other.

Everything was back to the way it was, and that was more than enough for Gray.


	6. Killer 4

Last chapter of Massacre. It stops at a weird spot, but that's because I didn't get to finish the chapter. **Sneak peek of the next chapter which will be posted tomorrow:** one huuuuge chapter of an OC/Smoker romance (that I took down but will be placing in here) so feel free to ignore it. Seriously. Even I would ignore it :)

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Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece.

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**Chapter Four: Still Weak**

"Left. To the left."

Gray calmly directed her flintlock pistol in the direction Kidd had ordered, calculating the distance before making her shot. The bullet zoomed off without hesitation, pinning the – she assumed – first mate of the pirate crew they were facing down in a heartbeat. She smiled in satisfaction, before coolly moving her gun to another target. Another shot. Another down.

The Kidd pirates were facing against some no-name crew who had miraculously made it into the Grand Line. They were weak – pathetic – and had decided to attack them out of the blue, probably for their bounties. It was their loss, really. They obviously didn't know what they were up against.

The two pirate ships were side by side, cannons soaring through the air and hoping to get a hit on the other vessel. Anon, the Kidd pirate's formidable marksman seemed to be manning the cannons easily. Shot after shot after shot hit the opposite ship, and it wouldn't be soon until the idiots found themselves sinking under. Still early in the game, the enemy ship was too far for the close-range fighters to show off a little. Killer especially, was waiting patiently to unleash his power. Gray could tell as much; even though she couldn't see and Killer was wearing a mask regardless, she knew that the first mate had a look of slight bloodlust upon his features. He couldn't wait to get in on the action, Gray knew.

She felt Kidd leave her side without another word, though she didn't really mind. She could hold her own well enough. She cocked her pistol into place, taking a small step back as she fired. The echoing bang followed by the sound of the bullet hitting its mark sent a thrill up Gray's spine.

Before she had lost her sight, she used to always carry around a simple metal pipe; Anne had done the same. They'd both wanted to follow after Kidd and Killer, naïve as they were. They'd wanted to become pirates, just like them.

She had been pretty good with the pipe: she could take out many bandits with it almost effortlessly. Killer had once told her she was a natural. That was the best compliment she had gotten in all the years she'd known him. But ever since she had ate the Fruit and been introduced to the world of marksmanship, it was as if it had been waiting for her; like it was _made _for her. When it came to guns and all that, it was something she was actually talented in. Something she was actually _good_ at. She loved it.

"Miller," Gray greeted passively as she fired another shot. Killer walked up to her calmly; now that she had the Fruit, nothing could get past her. He didn't bother trying to stay silent, though it was almost a habit of his now.

"They're almost within jumping distance," Killer said.

Gray nodded in agreement. "Excited?" she asked sarcastically. She heard Killer scoff. She sent another bullet flying. This time, it missed, and she cursed under her breath. Of course it would miss in front of Killer, one of the few people she actually wanted to impress.

"This is just a workout. And you said you were good." Killer replied.

"I am," Gray said without hesitation. She reached up to lightly nudge Killer away. "You're just messing me up." Even though she couldn't see, she knew that Killer was sporting a happy sort of smirk.

She was, too.

* * *

She truly wished she could somehow regain her sight back – she could feel the flames lick at her skin, but she couldn't see the carnage as the fire burnt down countless houses; took away countless lives.

It was probably an impressive sight to behold.

"Come on." Killer nudged her in the side, and when Gray didn't move, the masked man huffed. "Anon!" He called. Gray felt a bundle of something being passed from Killer's hands to Anon's. Then, she felt warm, callused hands encircle her waist and hoist her over a shoulder. Killer.

"Let me go," Gray demanded quietly, the roar of destruction pounding in her ears.

"You're obviously being sentimental right now. So no," Killer replied shortly. His answer made her ears burn.

"Shut up," she sneered, "I can take care of myself."

She was abruptly dropped to the ground, though Gray noted that Killer made sure she was on her feet before running again. She took off after him, feeling disgusted with herself. How could she get distracted and carried away so easily?

She wasn't weak. She wasn't.


	7. Smoker

**This is the last chapter that is going to be posted here. Be warned: it is four chapters in one. It was previously posted on my profile, but I decided not to continue it. The only stories to be on this account is this one, as well as "Battle of Wills". Thank you for reading, and if you want to adopt a story, please PM me :)**

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Disclaimer: I do not own One Piece.

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**Chapter One: Her Kind of Justice**

"You've _got _to be shitting me." The feminine voice floated through the door crack effortlessly, causing the newly-appointed captain to pause for a moment. His closed fist hovered over the smooth mahogany wood, poised to knock. Only he didn't. Knock, that is.

"Dylan, I'm completely serious." A deeper voice, which Smoker recognized as that of Commodore Jones – the man he had initially come to see – told the first wearily.

He could hear a dull thud, most likely the sound of a boot making contact with the carpet below. "I won't accept it, Jones. I won't." the first voice – Dylan – declared fiercely.

It surprised Smoker thoroughly when the commodore merely sighed, as appose to lashing out at the blatant show of disrespect the so called Dylan had shown. "I understand where you're coming from," Jones started slowly, "but Hardy is a mere chore boy. How do you expect me to give him credit when he's so below the ranks?"

The curiosity too great, Smoker looked down the hallway furtively and, upon acknowledging no presence nearby, he craned his neck a bit, catching a glimpse of the other person in the room just as she gave the commodore before her a droll look. "You _give it _to him," she pointed out dryly, as if her statement were the most obvious thing in the world.

Smoker's first thought, upon catching sight of Dylan, was that she was remarkably young, though about the right age for a lieutenant commander, if the standard issue white jacket that hung casually over her shoulders was of any indication. His second thought happened to be that though she seemed eighteen or so, she was still rather short for her age.

Dylan had black hair, green eyes, and a button-like nose which only seemed to make her look younger than ever. Under her lieutenant commander cloak she wore black yoga pants and a green tank top. No weapons were in sight.

Jones laughed without humour, breaking Smoker from his study of Dylan. "Oh, yes, and that would go _so _well with the press." The commodore said sarcastically, in reply to the green-eyed woman's comment.

Dylan shook her head, crossing her arms defiantly. "I don't care about the press," she stated stubbornly, her stance screaming rebellious marine.

Jones regarded the young woman wearily. "Look, Dylan…I've known you ever since you were a little girl, so I'll be honest with you. I can't give Hardy the credit. We need an official figure to be our representative of the matter, and he was working under you at the time, so…" he trailed off, leaving the message unsaid.

In a fit of frustration, Dylan slammed the palm of her hand down hard on Jones' desk, causing the aging man to frown irately. "I don't care, Jones," she insisted, "I'm not going to become a captain just because some other guy played superhero! It's either Hardy gets the promotion or no one does." And with that, the black-haired young woman pivoted on the heel of her oversized brown combat boots, and stalked off towards the door.

Too late, Smoker realised that she was getting closer to his place behind the mahogany barrier with each thudding step she took, and could only look down at her coolly as she flung the door open with a little more force than deemed necessary. Dylan started, surprise shining clear in her eyes, overlapping the annoyance they previously held. Compared to Smoker, she was just over a head shorter than him, barely reaching his shoulders. She scowled once her composure was regained and, in what was probably the heat of the moment, pushed past the captain roughly.

"It's rude to listen to other's conversations, brat." she muttered on her way out, coat billowing dramatically behind her.

She didn't look back once.

* * *

Smoker knocked twice on the familiar mahogany door five days after the incident with Dylan, entering casually when Commodore Jones granted access. "You called, Commodore?" he asked smoothly, closing the door behind him when the older man waved his hand in recognition.

Jones signed another document before looking up wearily, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "Ah, yes, Smoker." He put his glasses back on. "There's something I have to inform you on, but we should wait until Dylanna gets here."

Smoker slid easily into one of the two armchairs on the other side of Jones's desk, raising an eyebrow. "Dylanna?"

"Dylan," the commodore corrected himself, looking over at Smoker a little guiltily. "Pardon me; my tongue slipped. Lieutenant Comma – I mean, Captain Sparks doesn't like being called by her full name." he paused, before smiling wryly to himself. "You'd best remember that."

Smoker frowned, millions of questions swirling in his head. He could only assume that 'Captain Sparks' was Dylan – whose real name was Dylanna – and that Jones had elevated her position from Lieutenant Commander to Captain despite her protests. Jones had also hinted that it would be wise not to call Dylan by her real name, which must've meant that Smoker would be seeing more of Dylan, for whatever reason.

He could only wonder what exactly Jones meant by that.

As Smoker contemplated this, a knock resounded at the door, and Jones put away his paperwork and called the person in. Dylan entered cautiously, her suspicious look only intensifying when she caught sight of Smoker in the room. Smoker noted that Dylan was still wearing her lieutenant commander cloak hanging on her shoulders despite her switch to captain status. Her own little way of rebellion, he supposed.

"Dylan, have a seat," Jones called out, gesturing to the armchair next to Smoker's.

"You're the man from last time," Dylan stated, voice neither accusative nor questioning. She was merely neutral.

Smoker inclined his head. "That's right. It's a pleasure, Captain Dylanna."

Dylan's eyes widened fractionally at the use of her real name and from across him, Smoker saw Jones shift uncomfortably. Dylan turned on the commodore. "You told him?" she asked, but otherwise showed no sign of her annoyance aside from the clenching of her fists.

"It slipped out?" Jones offered, his excuse sounding more like a question than anything.

Dylan ignored the commodore, shooting him a quick glare before rounding on Smoker. "Don't call me that," she warned him, who merely smirked in turn, giving her no insight on what he was thinking.

Jones cleared his throat before Smoker could respond. "Anyway, please sit, Dylan." His take-charge manner was back. "I have an important announcement to make, concerning the two of you." He paused, "And your island assignment."

Immediately, Smoker perked up, sitting a little straighter. Dylan, on the other hand, frowned. "First you make me captain against my will, then you force me to take charge of a navy headquarters by myself?" her voice was accusative, yet calm, as if she was merely looking for a fight.

"Ah," Jones cut in, "That's the thing. You won't be by yourself. You two will work together to keep Flora Island's headquarters working smoothly." Well, that was unexpected.

Smoker's eyes widened at the statement. He must've heard wrong. "I have to work with _her_?" he pointed to Dylan rather rudely in the heat of the moment, but Dylan herself looked too incensed to care.

"You want me to work with _him_?" Dylan added incredulously before Jones could respond. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you not trust me enough, Jones? Is that it?"

Jones held up his hands in an attempt to calm both captains, to no avail. Both were out of their seats, staring in identical looks of disbelief and anger. "It's not a matter of trust, Dylan. The higher ups and I have all decided that this is for the best. We have our reasons, and this is only temporary; for a few months, a year at most."

"A _year_?" Smoker and Dylan shouted in unison, before glaring at the other, as if it was their fault Jones had made the decision in the first place.

"That's right," Jones confirmed, "And I'm sorry, but you have no choice. Starting tomorrow, you'll both be in charge of Flora Island – and I fully expect you two to work together, as well."

Dylan stepped back, and her chair fell to the ground. She frowned, obviously displeased with the news. "But why?" she stressed, "I don't want to work with him! No offense," she added to Smoker fleetingly, "But I thought that as captain, I'd get my own island to rein over!"

"I've worked for this position too hard, Commodore Jones," Smoker agreed fiercely. And it was true. Over the years, Smoker had worked hard and trained hard. And now, his goal was being crushed in the blink of an eye, and all because of some woman who couldn't keep her trap shut. He wouldn't accept this. He _couldn't_. If only Jones could see that.

But the commodore looked like his mind was made up. "I'm sorry, but this is for the best. Both of you are newly appointed captains, and so, for your first assignment, you should be together. It makes logical sense."

"Logical shmogical." Dylan snapped, only growing more irritated when both Jones and Smoker glanced at her with eyebrows raised. "You know what I mean!"

Jones shrugged. "Nevertheless, there's nothing that'll change my mind. It's the perfect opportunity. Plus, maybe you two working together will cancel out each other's tempers." They both glared at him. Jones grinned at that. "It's official. You, Captain Dylan Sparks, and you, Captain Smoker, will both be in charge of Flora Island starting tomorrow."

Dylan's protests fell on deaf ears as Jones leaned over his desk to regard the duo seriously.

"Pack your bags, soldiers. You leave at seven sharp."

* * *

**Chapter Two: Truce?**

Dylan was, essentially, burning Smoker with her heated gaze. And contrary to what most of both their crews thought, it was of annoyance rather than want. Well, not pure, unadulterated annoyance per se, not by a long shot, but a more subdued case.

Dylan _knew_ she was being unreasonable, dumping all the blame on Smoker like she was, but she couldn't help it. She reasoned that she could act like a child for just a while more, before she had to woman up and act more like a captain and less like a brat – no matter how much she wanted to.

As she stared Smoker down, she couldn't help but study him over. Smoker had gray hair that made him look older than he probably was. That, coupled with his stormy gray eyes, added to the intimidating effect. Only she wasn't about to be scared off any time soon.

From what she could see, Smoker carried no visible weapon, much like her. She wondered how he defended himself from enemies. But back to the present: she stared a bit more, and snapped her eyes back to her subordinates when Smoker turned his cool gaze and looked her head on, evidently unfazed by the dark waves she practically gave out in spades.

"Felix!" she called, refusing to look back at her partner, who was insistently drilling a hole in her back.

The wide-eyed chore boy scurried forward, tensing as he got closer. "Yes, Captain Sparks?"

Dylan's eye twitched at the title. Gah. _Captain_. She absolutely abhorred being called so, but the marines under her care were insistent to the point of being downright annoying. But it wouldn't do to get mad at them; she was in charge of their well-being and it would not be wise to have them hate her on the first day.

She took a deep breath. "Never mind," she managed a small smile, "Just…continue with what you were doing."

"Y-Yes ma'am," Felix bowed and quickly scuttled away.

Dylan clenched her teeth as she watched him leave, the muscle in the base of her jaw jumping in annoyance. It didn't help that she could still feel Smoker's gaze, the geezer, from the ship adjacent to hers. She took another cleansing breath, her eyes fluttering closed. When she next opened them, she felt relatively better.

It wasn't Smoker's fault, she reasoned, that she had to work alongside him in the care of Flora Island. In fact, he was probably as irritated as she was. They should be working together, not apart. Maybe she could turn this little assignment into an enjoyable one.

Oh, who was she kidding? Dylan had always been unreasonable, always been the stubborn mule that had her own views and rights. No one, not even her father, back when he was still alive, could take that away from her. She stood for what she believed in, and sometimes, when she knew she was in the wrong, it still took a lot to get an apology out of her. Her pride was important to her, but she still supposed it would make the whole disaster of Jones' more enjoyable if she didn't snap down everyone's throats each second.

Even though she had become a captain by technicality, she could still try her hardest to be a good one.

Though…frankly, she still couldn't believe she was a captain. She knew she wasn't nearly as strong as some of the captain's she'd met. She knew she didn't deserve to be one. But Jones had claimed he had no choice. Hardy, the young boy whom Dylan and Jones had been arguing about; the mere chore boy who was also currently a part of Dylan's newly formed crew – as she'd asked for him personally – was the one who should have gotten the recognition.

_He_ was the one who had found out about the small group of bandits planning to steal the latest shipment of Devil Fruit's coming in. _He_ was the one who'd warned the marines, and yet when no one had believed him, _he_ had gone out himself to stop them. _He_ was the one who had run to get Dylan, Devil Fruits clutched to his chest, bandits hot on his trail. All Dylan had done was knock the offenders out cold. Hardy was the one who deserved the promotion.

Unfortunately, no one else saw what she did.

The colour had mostly left Dylan's cheeks by now, the blotchy, angry red that didn't have much to do with Smoker and everything to do with frustration at herself receding down her neck. She glanced at Smoker at the ship over and was unsurprised to see him studying her intently. He didn't look away, even when Dylan caught his stormy gray eyes with her own, instead staring her down, willing her to back down first. Only Dylan didn't. Back down, that is.

She could never turn down a challenge.

Finally, Smoker tore his eyes from hers when his ensign, Petty, approached him with something or other. Feeling a little smug, Dylan turned her eyes to Petty instead.

She was a slim woman, and had pleasant features to look at. Brown hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her brown eyes were large, like a doe's. The only reason Petty had really caught Dylan's eye was because of her behaviour with her own ensign, Don.

Dylan shifted her gaze to her subordinate, in her own ship. Don had unusual spiky blue hair and black eyes, and a nice build.

Although she _technically_ wasn't allowed, Dylan had checked both ensigns' backgrounds, and discovered that they had worked together on the same ship when they were mere chore boys and girls. Now, many years later, Dylan could practically see the affection they held for each other. It was in the way they would sneak glances at each other when they thought the other wasn't looking, or how Don would casually smile at Petty, then blush a little when she smiled back.

It was sickeningly cute, and Dylan loved every second of it.

Okay, so maybe she was a bit of a romantic. Not in her own love life, which was nonexistent, but in other's. She watched soap operas in private. She swooned whenever a proposal was made, or when a girl was asked out by the object of her affection. She was a romantic at heart, and wasn't afraid to admit it…to herself. No one else knew the little tidbit about her, aside from maybe Jones, but he was just too perceptive for his own good, so he didn't really count.

Plus, he was an old geezer. He didn't understand love.

Nevertheless, Dylan was determined to get the two ensign's together and acknowledging their undying affections. They could thank her later.

"Land ahoy!" Dylan snapped out of her musings and dragged her gaze from Don to Smoker. Her ship, _The Hyperion_, was smoothly sailing alongside Smoker's, _The Cyclops_. Squinting at the horizon, she could barely make out the beginnings of an island.

Flora Island, the place where she and Smoker would be taking over for the next few months. Wonderful.

* * *

Smoker didn't quite know how to feel, not really. Sure, he was mad. Annoyed. Ticked off. But he had long since accepted his fate. A small part of him wanted to lash out against his superior's decision. Dylan had. He certainly didn't believe in absolute justice, and so he didn't have to listen to every word the higher ups said. He wasn't obligated to.

He was his own person.

But he could be reasonable at times, and Smoker could see what Jones was getting at. Dylan, however, obviously couldn't see it and was bent on making her point. He admired that about her, as grudging as he was to admit it even to himself, but felt that under other circumstances, she could learn to agree and relent.

Nevertheless, she wasn't afraid to stand up for what she believed in. She was as stubborn as a mule, sure, but she knew exactly who she was, even at such a young age. On second thought, he didn't even know how old she was in the first place. He'd have to change that if they were to work together.

"Captain Dylan has accepted your request, sir, and is waiting in your office." Ensign Petty saluted Smoker respectfully.

"Thank you, Petty. Let's go, shall we?" Smoker turned on his heel, hearing his ensign follow suit. They walked the short way to Smoker's office, and he opened the door without much preamble. "Dylanna, let's get down to business."

Dylan scowled as if by reflex, before she took a calming breath and pursed her lips at Smoker. "Of course, Smokie," she replied sweetly, spinning once in Smoker's desk chair.

"Don't call me that," was Smoker's immediate response. Then, upon second thought, he pulled himself together in the presence of his and Dylan's ensigns. "Petty, you may leave now."

"W-Wait," Dylan called out hurriedly. Smoker raised an eyebrow at her, but she was looking at Dom with an unreadable expression on her face. "Dom, you should go with her. Make sure the marines are all doing okay and everything." Dom nodded, and once they were gone, she smiled to herself in satisfaction. Smoker studied her. Interesting…

"So Dylanna, are you going to stare at the door all day or what?" he drawled, bringing Dylan from wherever she'd been.

Dylan glared at him half-heartedly. Smoker smirked and sat in the chair opposite of his own, as it was currently being occupied by the feisty captain. Dylan eyed him suspiciously, before she folded her hands in her lap, looking suddenly bored.

"So, what did you call me here for, Smokie?"

Smoker took a page from her book and leaned back in his chair, adopting a nonchalant look. "Well, since we'll be working together, it would make sense if we knew the basics of the other, right?"

Dylan worried on her lip at that, slowly leaning forward. "I've been thinking that, too," she admitted. "I'm willing to be much more rational about this. It's neither of our faults that Jones did what he did, the geezer," she muttered the last name-calling under her breath, not that it stopped Smoker from hearing.

"Go on," Smoker decided to ignore the last part, genuinely intrigued.

Dylan pursed her lips and smacked them. "Anyway, if we actually work together for this, things would be so much easier. So, what do you say? Colleagues or whatever?"

"Colleagues." Smoker drawled. Dylan had pretty much said all that was on his mind. "Now that we've established this, though, we should know each other's strengths and weaknesses. There are bound to be some enemies that we'd have to personally take care of, and it would be better if we knew more about each other in that aspect."

It was as if he'd spoken the magic words.

Dylan's whole posture shifted, her eyes lighting up. Her cool and rough demeanor from earlier was gone in the blink of an eye, almost as if she were shedding more layers of herself, of her personality, for Smoker to see.

"I thought you'd never ask, Smokie," Dylan enthused, before going off on a long spiel about this and that.

The rest of the day passed by in similar fashion. Smoker learned that Dylan's talent was in the Capoeira fighting style, a type of leg-using style, which she'd learned from her father, a former marine. Dylan seemed really eager to know of Smoker's Devil Fruit, and it was then did she look more like a kid than ever.

"Feel free to leave whenever, Smokie," Dylan drawled after they'd finished talking. Smoker's eye ticked. She was kicking him out of his own office – how appalling and unprofessional was that?

"I should be saying the same to you, Dylanna." He replied coolly.

Dylan frowned. "Why you–"

Smoker grinned. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out, Sparks."

* * *

**Chapter Three: Beast In The Woods**

Dylan pursed her lips as Smoker gave out orders to the marine soldiers all gather out on the courtyard.

Technically, she was supposed to be helping out, but Smokie had claimed that she would only slow him down. Which was fine with her – at first, she'd only protested for the sake of her own pride, but when she stood back and thought about it, the whole thing really was a blessing in disguise.

Because honestly, why would she want to do the paperwork and whatnot in the first place? Smoker was only dragging himself down with all his claims that he could do everything by himself. He was such a perfectionist that it annoyed her to no end. He insisted on doing most of the work and taking most of the responsibility, and sometimes Dylan refused to just sit back and let him do all the work, but other times, she truly didn't care.

Let him do as he pleased.

Really, it was perfectly fine with Dylan. Let him work himself to death for all she cared. Well, maybe she didn't want him to keel over and die per se. His Devil Fruit – Logia type! – was too rare for it to just disappear off the face of the earth, even if it was Smoker who had the power. It could be much, much worse – an evil pirate could've gotten possession of the Fruit instead, which would have been horrible.

Smoker was an okay geezer; he was a marine, a good one at that, and the only thing Dylan had against him was that he was making her look bad with his perfectionist routine. Which was incredibly unreasonable of her, so scratch that. She didn't have much against him.

She yawned as Smoker continued to give out assignments: who would patrol when, yadda yadda yadda, until finally he dismissed them all and took out a cigar from the inside of that fancy shmancy jacket of his. He lit it up casually and inhaled.

Ugh. Cancer sticks.

Dylan nodded shortly to the marines she passed on their way out, before drawing her cloak tight around her shoulders – the air was a little chilly and she got cold really easily. Light on her feet, Dylan walked over to where Smoker was standing, smoking the lung dart of his.

"A word of advice," she called out nonchalantly, "Don't smoke near me, or when we're in the same room. The cancer sticks make me nauseous." She tried not to breathe in through her nose, but it only succeeded in making her cough from inhaling the smoke. Smooth, she reflected sarcastically.

"Cancer sticks?" Smoker confirmed dryly, unmoved by her claim and taking another lungful of smoke.

"Cancer sticks." Dylan repeated firmly, taking the cigar from between his lips and dropping it on the grass. She ground her heel on the end, stubbing it out.

Smoker gave her a look. "Dylanna, I believe you owe me another cigar."

Dylan rolled her eyes, though her hand twitched at the use of her real name. "I'm doing you a favour, Smokie. Do you _want _to die an early death? Besides, you have plenty of lung darts as it is." She gestured to the inside of his coat, which was lined with countless cigars, hence proving her point.

"I'm a Smoke man." Smoker replied with a small grin, "Do you really think that something like this will affect me?"

At the mention of Smoker's Devil Fruit, Dylan's eyes lit up. She didn't know why, but they fascinated her. Devil Fruits, that is. Each Fruit was unique, and each one so interesting. Though if she had the choice between a Fruit and never being able to swim again, Dylan had long since agreed that she would turn down the potential power. She loved swimming. Her mother had been a diver of sorts, and she guessed it just rubbed off on her.

"I guess not." Dylan said. "But still, not near me, okay?"

Smoker studied her for a few moments. She seemed really upset and opinionated about the subject. "Fine, yeah."

Dylan blinked, surprised. Then, she scratched her head awkwardly. She hadn't thought that he would agree to it so easily. "Um, thanks." She murmured.

Smoker, not wanting to feel any more uncomfortable than he already did, shuffled a hand over his hair and heaved a sigh. "Let's go over the patrol schedules and make sure everything's perfect."

"What? But you just gave out the schedules to everyone!" Dylan protested. "What if there's something wrong with it? Then we'd have to have this whole meeting again." Why did he have to be such a perfectionist?

"Exactly," Smoker said, "If they're wrong, then we have to take care of the matter as soon as possible."

Dylan huffed, still not that pleased, but had no retort ready on the tip of her tongue. "Whatever."

* * *

"You're being stupid. There isn't anything wrong with it!" Dylan shook her head and leaned over, pointing to a spot on the piece of parchment. "Look. Look here. It says that he gets three hours before lunch. And then this guy relieves him. That makes sense!"

"No, it–" Smoker stopped, looking over the information again.

Dylan beamed. "See? I was right," she laughed as Smoker's expression turned sour. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Yeah, me neither." Smoker muttered.

Dylan sent him a mock indignant look. "Excuse me? I'll have you know that I'm pretty smart. How did you think I got this far?" She paused. "Well, aside from the whole 'Devil Fruit' fiasco."

Smoker smirked, amused. "That was intruiging to watch. You berate Jones like that, I mean."

Dylan shrugged, nonchalant. "I've known Jones since I was a kid; he was best friend's with my father. But then again, even if it wasn't Jones I still would have lashed out," she mused.

Smoker noted that she always used past tense when talking about her father, but didn't comment on it. "So then, what are your views on 'Absolute Justice'?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Absolute rubbish," Dylan snorted immidiately, "You know what us Marines need? A good healthy dose of reality. We need to open our eyes and realise that not every pirate is evil, or that sometimes, we make mistakes too." She sighed wretchedly, slowly coming out of her daze.

"I agree," Smoker said slowly. "You're absolutely right."

Dylan was taken aback for only a second before she beamed at Smoker, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. "Well, it's how I see it."

Smoker sent Dylan a deadpan look. "I'm not just saying it because I've just been enlightened, Dylanna. I've thought this for a while too, it's not just you."

"Just get to work, Smokie." Dylan lamented.

"Aye, _captain_." Smoker quirked an eyebrow a tad playfully, and both captains relaxed in the confines of Smoker's private office.

Dylan leaned back in her chair, letting Smoker continue with his work for a moment. It had been a good few weeks since becoming captains of Flora Island, and so far, things were going surprisingly well. The Islanders were friendly and welcoming, and abided to the Marine's rules well enough. They'd finally got the hang of things in the schedule department, and it seemed the whole island were a well oiled machine.

There were litle disturbances so far, as well. Since the island was fair sized, a couple East Blue pirates with starting bounties had come in hopes they'd get lucky and aqquire more cargo, crew members, or treasure. They were out of luck, as once they'd discovered the island held a Marine base, it was already too late.

"By now, word should have gotten around that Flora Island has a Marine base, don't you think?" Dylan asked out of the blue, fiddling with a loose strand on her lieutenant commander cloak that she hadn't seen reason to throw away.

Smoker looked up from a thick wad of papers, regarding Dylan curiously. "Yes, I would assume so. Why?"

Dylan shrugged. "No reason."

* * *

The water was cool and refreshing in the crisp morning air. Dylan sighed happily before diving under, opening her eyes to the beautiful sight that was beheld. She'd woken up early today, before the night shift of marine patrol could go to bed, and had decided on a morning swim. She was glad she'd made the decision now.

Swimming idly, Dylan began to hum, and gradually, got louder in volume as she sung out the lyrics to a few popular Marine tunes. She got so caught up in the music and treading water lightly that before she knew it, the sun was getting higher and higher and her skin was being reduced to that of a prune.

She moved herself to the shore, still singing randomly, a big, happy smile on her face. When was the last time she had just let herself unwind like this? When was the last time she'd relaxed? Either way, it felt amazing.

"Dylan! Are you okay?"

She stopped singing abruptly at the sudden intrusion, her cheeks colouring pink when she caught sight of Smoker jogging towards her. Dylan's embarrassment faded away, however, when she saw the worried look on his face.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" She called, in answer to Smoker's previous question. What did he mean, was she okay?

Smoker stopped a few feet shy from Dylan's bathing suit clad form, confusion knotting his brows. "But…I was informed that some sort of beast was near the shore by frantic Islanders. They refused to let anyone else but me see to the matter, saying something about a legend…are you sure you're okay? You didn't hear anything strange while you were swimming? Like a banshee?"

Dylan began to shake her head, but stopped when his words sunk in. Beast? Legend? _Banshee_? She felt her cheeks fill with colour once more, and this time she was more mortified than anything. "Oh dear…"

"What? What is it?"

Dylan covered her face in her hands, mumbling, "Promise not to tell _anyone_ what I'm about to tell you?"

"Dylanna, what are you…"

"Promise?" Dylan urged.

Smoker pursed his lips, nodding. "Of course. I won't tell a soul…unless it's harmful to you or the islanders," he amended.

Dylan nodded, feeling that it was a good compromise. It wasn't harmless, per say, at least, not really… "The thing that got the islanders so worked up about was probably just my…just my…" Dylan huffed, turning away. "It was my singing, okay, my singing. My dad always said I was tone deaf or whatever. I didn't think anyone would be able to hear me, though!"

There was a beat of silence, in which Dylan blushed even harder. She couldn't help but turn around to see Smoker's face a few moments later, and huffed indignantly when she caught sight of the amused grin on Smoker's face.

"Wait…so the noise…was you?" Smoker asked, just to clarify.

"Must you make me say it again?" Dylan cried, "Yes, okay? It was me, now make your fun. But be warned, I might be so inclined to break your neck in turn."

Smoker started laughing, something that Dylan had yet to see in the short time she'd known him. She had only ever seen him chuckle, or grin at most, but this? She would have been intruiged if the laughing wasn't at her expense. His eyes seemed to light up and shine with amusement as he tried to smother his chuckles, but his efforts were in vain. Dylan felt her face become hot, but despite that, she couldn't help but notice how much more…_pleasant _Smoker looked when he wasn't sporting a constant frown on his face.

The thought only caused her to blush harder.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Project Girlfriend**

The courtyard in the back of the Marine headquarters had not a hair out of place. The flowers bloomed, butterflies danced around, and marines practiced training with wooden swords and straw-filled dummies. In other words, all was normal; like it should be.

Well, sort of.

"Captain Dylanna… _What _are you doing?"

Dylan started, turning her head towards Smoker – who, for once, didn't have a cigar in his mouth – with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. "Nothing…" she replied meekly, slowly attempting to hide the pair of binoculars in her hands. The fact that he had called her by her real name went right over her head – unfortunately, she was a little _too_ used to it by now.

Smoker raised an eyebrow at Dylan's response. "Oh, really?" he mused, "Then what's with you, hiding behind a tree, without your lieutenant commander jacket and with a pair of binoculars behind your back, hmm?"

Dylan scowled. Damn him for being so smart. She'd only been co-captains with him for, what, a month and a week, and he was already ruining her fun? She huffed petulantly. "Fine. If you _must_ know, I'm… checking to see if Ensign Don and Petty are doing their jobs. Yes, that's right." She nodded to herself. That seemed like a viable reason.

Smoker raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And this has nothing to do with the fact that they're oh-so-obviously sneaking glances at each other when they think the other isn't looking?"

Dylan stared up at Smoker in slight disbelief. Whipping her binoculars out, she placed them to her eyes and zoomed in on the two marines. "Hey, you're right! Awww," she turned back to Smoker, remarking, "You're very observant."

Smoker coughed into a closed fist, a tad uncomfortably. "That's beside the point, Dylanna. The question is: what are you doing spying on your subordinates?"

Dylan glared half-heartedly at Smoker. "Well, when you put it that way…" she muttered. Suddenly, movement in her peripheral caught her attention and she inhaled sharply, reaching out and gripping the lapels of Smoker's jacket and tugging him quickly behind the tree. "Quiet!" she hissed when Smoker opened his mouth to protest. "They're looking this way!"

Smoker stared down at Dylan a little incredulously. Her back was to the tree trunk, her head looking to her right. One hand was clutching on to the binoculars and the other on the collar of his jacket, keeping him in an awkward semi-crouched position, hovering over her person. Both his arms had shot out and gripped the trunk on either side of her head in order to steady himself, and his breath tickled her bare shoulder.

Dylan took a deep breath, peering over Smoker's arm with her binoculars to check and see whether either Ensign Don or Petty were still looking her way. She sighed in relief when she saw that they weren't; rather, they were back to sneaking peeks at each other. It was all so romantic!

"Would you mind terribly and let me go, Captain Dylanna?" Smoker whispered – more like growled – in her ear, his breath ghosting over the side of her neck. Dylan instinctively raised her shoulder to close up the space bared to Smoker, shivering a bit at the ticklish feeling.

"Right. Sorry about that, Captain Smokie." Dylan let go of Smoker's jacket, smoothing out the wrinkles rather sheepishly as a light tint coloured her cheeks.

Smoker straightened himself, checking over his shoulder to see if anyone had seen. When he determined that no one had spotted him, he turned back to regard Dylan with a raised eyebrow. She was _definitely_ acting weirdly. "Captain Dylanna," he started, sounding a little amused yet a tad annoyed for being manhandled so atrociously, "You wouldn't happen to be a… closet romantic, would you?"

Dylan froze.

She slowly raised her eyes from his chest – she wasn't _staring _– to his stormy-grey eyes, before pursing her lips in annoyance. "No…" she murmured weakly.

Smoker didn't look convinced.

Dylan huffed, glaring up at the older man. How did he even know, anyway? She wasn't _that_ obvious. "So what if I am? And so help me Smokie, if you tell anyone about this I will–"

"I know, I know, you'll cut my head off, right?" Smoker drawled, looking highly amused. Dylan scowled and looked away, causing Smoker to chuckle lowly.

"Don't you have paperwork to do, Captain Dylanna?" Smoker asked her.

Dylan pouted rather childishly. "Paperwork, shmaperwork…" she muttered, eyeing Smoker suspiciously. "Why, have _you_ finished your paperwork?"

Smoker rolled his eyes before he could catch himself. "Of course, what kind of a captain would I be if I didn't?"

"I heard that cleverly disguised insult, Smokie, and in my defense, I _am_ doing something productive." She paused, gesturing behind the tree. "I'm conducting research."

"On your subordinates' private lives?" Smoker asked, amused.

Dylan glared, "_Yes. _Do you have a problem with that? It's so obvious that Don and Petty are madly in love. Y'know, I heard that they were on the same ship when they were mere Cabin Helpers."

"How delightful," Smoker replied dryly.

Dylan frowned. "Just because you don't know anything about romance, Captain, doesn't mean you have to go and make fun of it."

"And I suppose that you're implying that _you_ know all about this so-called romance?" Smoker shot back disinterestedly.

"You're a bitter, bitter man, you know that?"

"Hn."

Suddenly, Dylan's face lit up and she jumped to her feet, grinning wildly at Smoker, who regarded her carefully. "Smokie, I've got an idea."

Smoker narrowed his eyes, letting the silence stretch before them for a while before answering. "And, pray tell, what is this idea of yours?" he asked carefully, a foreboding feeling starting to fester deep in his gut. He wasn't sure how to feel about this _romantic _Dylan. She just kept on surprising him day after day with each new thing he learned about her. Nevertheless, her idea could not be good…

Dylan merely smirked deviously. "I, Captain Dylan Sparks, am going to help you, Captain Smoker, in getting…a _girlfriend_."

Smoker could only stare in slight horror at the raven-haired woman before him as the words tumbled from her lips, before running a hand through his face and up into his hair in agitation. "That's quite alright, Dylanna. I don't _need_–"

"No objections," Dylan chided, "I'm going through with this. But, if you tell_ anyone_ what I'm doing to help you, I'll–"

Smoker sighed tiredly, cutting her off. "I know, I know, you'll cut my head off."

He really needed a smoke or two.

Maybe three.

* * *

_Knock, knock._

Smoker looked up from his paperwork, or rather, _Dylan's _paperwork that he had, for reasons unknown to even him, taken on much to the delight of the raven-haired girl.

"Come in," he called gruffly.

Instantly, he regretted ever saying those two fateful words.

Dylan strolled in casually, looking around the office that she'd been in numerous times before. Her coat billowed behind her as the green-eyed woman took a seat across from Smoker, a clipboard in hand.

This could _not_ be good.

"So, Smokie, I have a few questions for you–"

"No." Smoker glared at the woman before him. "I already told you, Dylanna, I'm not going to go out with any girls you pair me up with."

Dylan frowned. "But it would do you much good," she insisted, "Help you relax! Because you are way too high strung," she added under her breath, not that it stopped Smoker from hearing.

"Dylanna…get out."

"Smokie…no."

"Dylanna…"

Dylan ignored him and sat forward, cradling her chin in her hand, her elbow resting on Smoker's desk. "Hm…I'm going to go ahead and say your favourite colour is…" her eyes flickered to his jacket, "green, and that your favourite pastime is…" a glance at all the paperwork, "working – ew – and that you enjoy…" catching sight of the cigars lining the inside of his jacket, "destroying your lungs and dying an early death."

She sat back in satisfaction, smirking smugly at Smoker, whose eye ticked in annoyance. Finally, he sighed. "If I fill out the questionnaire, will you leave?"

"Yep!" Dylan said instantly, popping the 'p'. She handed the clipboard over to Smoker, who took it rather reluctantly. She stood from the chair, already halfway to the door. "I'll come pick it up in an hour."

And then, she was gone.

Smoker sighed and pushed his paperwork to the side, staring down at the clipboard in hand. He started off where Dylan had stopped.

_Question Four: What do you look for in a woman?_

Grumbling, the grey-haired man clicked the top of his pen and scrawled his answer on the paper half hazardously.

_Women who aren't as annoying or childish as Dylanna Sparks._

Satisfied with his answer, he looked over the next one.

_Question Five: Would you say you care more for appearance, or personality?_

He didn't even have to blink before his answer was printed next to the question.

_As long as she doesn't look anything like Dylanna Sparks, or acts anything like Dylanna Sparks, I'm fine._

His eyes traveled to the next question.

_Question Six: Why are you taking this questionnaire in the first place?_

_Because Dylanna Sparks is a nosy woman who is secretly a closet romantic and wants to be the next cupid. She's taking it all out on me, unfortunately._

The rest of the questions were relatively similar, and most of Smoker's answers were unsurprisingly related to Dylan. Once he was done, he sighed, pushed the clipboard away, and got started on the paperwork once more.

About forty-five minutes later, a knock resounded at his door and before Smoker could grant access, Dylan casually walked in, her wet hair indicating that she had recently taken a shower, a bored expression on her face as she studied her nails – they were bare and unpainted, and kept short.

"Done the questionnaire?" she asked, plopping down into the soft armchair across from Smoker's own rolling-chair.

Smoker grunted, a little annoyed but strangely used to it (it being Dylan's constant questions), pointing to the clipboard at the edge of his desk without looking up. Dylan leaned forward, droplets of water dripping onto Smoker's paperwork.

Smoker growled at that, placing his pen down and grabbing hold of Dylan's shoulder, pushing her back into the chair. "Stop raining on the faxes. They're important." He took the questionnaire himself and handed it to her, this time keeping an eye on Dylan's face for her reactions to his answers.

As Dylan read over the piece of paper, her face contorted into many emotions – annoyed, angry, aggravated, embarrassed, and finally, reluctantly amused. She sighed regretfully. "I should have know you wouldn't ever take this seriously." Cradling her chin in a palm, she wondered idly, "Have you even had a girlfriend before? Ever?"

"Have you?" Smoker shot back just as quickly, signing another document.

"No," Dylan admitted without shame, "But that wasn't the question."

"Fine. No, I've never had a girlfriend or any other female counterpart, ever."

Dylan chuckled absently. "Oh. Well, that's okay. I'll still be on the lookout for power-hungry females on the island for you."

Smoker arched an eyebrow, finally looking up from his papers. "No thanks. Really, I'm fine with what I have."

Dylan didn't respond, instead changing the subject a moment later. "You need help with that?"

"Why? You want to help? I'm actually doing your share of paperwork, you know." Smoker looked up, surprised to see a guilty expression on Dylan's face.

"I'm sorry about that," she grumbled. "I'll do my own work from now on, okay? I was just being bratty like usual."

Smoker stared at Dylan for a while, before pushing a small stack of papers her way. He dropped a pen onto her lap. "Alright. Let's get to work."

Dylan ducked her head to hide her please little grin, getting started on the faxes a moment later. "Hmm, this actually isn't so bad. I thought it would be boring."

"I guess," Smoker shrugged uncaringly. Suddenly, a thought popped into his head. "How old are you, Dylanna?"

A bit taken aback at the abrupt change in subject, she answered, "Nineteen. Why? How old are _you_?"

Smoker nodded absently. Her age sounded just about right. She looked around nineteen, anyway. "Twenty-two," he replied, before smirking. "That makes me your superior by three years."

Dylan laughed, even though her first instinct had been to scowl. "Just because you're older doesn't mean you're a better captain that I am," she sing-songed.

Smoker immediately retaliated, though it was light-hearted. Neither of them realised, as they continued to exchange playful banter, that not once had they fought, argued or had a disagreement during their whole conversation.

Things were changing within the depths of Flora Island, no matter how slight.

* * *

**The End**

* * *

Thank you for reading :)


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